


Invert

by PeachyKeen_WithCream



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holding, M/M, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyKeen_WithCream/pseuds/PeachyKeen_WithCream
Summary: Hank looks every bit an overgrown blue bat as he holds an arm out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'X-Men' nor am I profiting off this.

Amusement park rides, specifically roller coasters or anything which spins become an enemy halfway through foster care. Alex knows nothing of motion sickness, or the effects of being flung around in a ride operated by a teenager only half paying attention. The foster mom cleans him up as best she can with paper towels, but it ruins amusement park rides forever.

It comes as a relief that Hank never expresses interest in amusement park rides. Then comes the day he finds him dangling from the ceiling by his feet. 

"Is this part of some experiment?" Alex asks. "What happened to: no experiments which might cause bodily harm or death in the house'?"

Hank cocks his head, looking every bit an overgrown blue bat as he holds an arm out.

"I've found comfort hanging from the ceiling; my feet are strong enough to grip for a lengthy period. Would you like to try?" 

The firm press of muscle and softness of fur are far cries from the bumpy jolting of roller coasters, and Hank is no half caring teenager. Still, he tenses as he allows himself to be hauled up. It takes some maneuvering consisting mostly of Hank reassuring him until he dangles upside down against his chest, cheeks brushing. 

The mattress hovers underneath him, promising to be a half assed cushion. It's better than no protection, but his head still swims. 

"Our bed still smells like the explosion." Hank murmurs against his neck. It comes with an anxious prick of fangs and unsteady roll of hips. 

"Does my skin still smell like the explosion?" 

He freezes, every muscle bunching and tightening to cage him in, as if that could stop an explosion. Fangs press against his neck in waiting, uncertain of whether or not this is still okay. 

"I'm real, you know?"

Hank pants, grip tightening as his teeth slide across the salty skin of his neck.


End file.
